PlayuhDk
04-16-2012, 08:58 AM
- Shadow's Arrival (Written by PlayuhDk) -
It was a dark, stormy night, and the ancient barrier (not physical, though not completely ethereal, either) that kept the balance in
the forest was disturbed. Nights like these allow darkness to grow in strength, a darkness that fuels the evil that is the Hellbourne.
For this very reason, all sorts of cruel horrors slipped through to the Legion-side of the forest, all across this barrier. Gruesome horrors,
accompanied by such unnatural shadows that they could not be cast by any worldly object; shadows that made the air itself flee
desperately. At dreadful times like these, Imps, Warlocks, and other Hellbourne darklings rushed, strengthened by the grimness of the
night, through the ruptured barrier, seeking to satisfy their never-ending thirst for blood.
Though they would not, however, have an easy time doing so; for the Legion’s army was prepared. Strong soldiers, following the lead of
the mighty Jereziah intercepted the flooding darkness, calling upon the power of Sol to drive it back. All across the enormous forest of
Caldavar, clashes between the forces of light and darkness were taking place. Such a phenomenon was not unseen in Newerth; battles like
these occured almost daily - the Hellbourne usually gained some ground during the nightfall, just to be driven off again
with the dawning of the light, when Sol’s strength increased. This night, however, would not follow this recurring pattern that stitches
together the never-seizing war between the Legion and Hellbourne.
The neutral Goblins kept small trading posts along the barrier, bartering goods with whoever wished so, not being disturbed by either
faction. Why would they seek conflict with the Goblins, who had no intention to intervene in the war? They only cared for their goods;
goods that every soldier, good or evil, can make good use of. Near one of these outposts, a group of Legion soldiers patrolled through
the trees. “The barrier is thin, here,” put forth the leader of the group. “Prepare for the upcoming battle; as soon as this Hellbourne
scum notices it, an entire horde of Imps will come barging through.” Though his relaxed stance did not match the tone of his voice,
as did the firm grip around his sword betray that he feared whatever he and his men might run into. Despite being well-seasoned as
they were - being used to fare war against the creatures of the dark - he could not help but notice the frightened look on his comrades’
faces; even he could hardly suppress shivers of fear.
And then they all felt it. Someone, something was drawing near. One blink of an eye passed and a dark, shrouding mist covered the
trees above their heads and crept steadily but horrifyingly fast towards them, blocking off the little light that the moon shed - they
were blind. A few moments of thrilling suspense passed; then all hell broke loose. All around the leading soldier, the unmistakable sounds
of a raging battle could be heard, accompanied by terrified screams. Instantly he drew his own blade, but it seemed not to matter at all,
for he could not even see the weapon he now held. “Sh- show yourself, you monster, and face me without this damned mist making me
unable to see!” he uttered. A voice that made his heart skip more than one beat and the blood in his veins freeze suddenly whispered
from the dark. “If that is your wish..” It seemed as if the voice came not from a distant point but from inside his head - and then suddenly
he could see through the mist. He could see the gruesome scene that was taking place all around him.
Each and every one of his comrades were losing - or had already lost - the battle against their very own shadow; though there was
no light source that could cast them, the shadows seemed to be alive and handled independently from their owners, one by one felling
their living counterpart. But his attention was to her, when she emerged from the shadows: a woman with a certain graceful but terrifying
beauty strode towards him. Her skin had this odd tone of gray, as if her body and the shadows that it could cast were one; but other
than this peculiar fact, her body had every feature of a human female, and was, to be fair, quite a pleasure to the eye. She wore a
cuirass, covered with some dark dye, that fitted her probably more than any other and allowed her to move about in an elegant fashion.
She bore a mask, that covered half of her face but had a visor of some sorts, allowing one to gaze into her milky white, but brightly
glowing eyes. She had long, dark hair, tied up in a ponytail-fashion; although which, after taking a closer look, seemed as if it consisted
of the same dark mist that surrounded her. The two horns curling out from either side of the mask she wore were nonetheless impressing,
but there was nothing more horrifying than the weapon she wielded; a huge, razor sharp scythe. The entire weapon was intricately garnished
with some bone-like material and resembled the attributes of the head of a ancient, fearsome predator. The blade seemed as if it could cut
up any material in the blink of an eye. The very sight of this legendary weapon instilled pure fear in the leader’s veins - he knew
this weapon. Every Legion soldier knows and should know this weapon. This was the weapon wielded by the mistress of revenge itself;
he was approached by none other than Fayde.
This fact horrified him so, that he uttered: “You! You are Fayde, Harvester of Souls!” This seemed to amuse her, as her lips curled into
a smile. “So you’ve heard of me? I seem to be quite popular with your kind.” she said with the same soothing but fear-instilling voice,
though now it did not seem to come from his own thoughts. “Names are no more than a… decoration - they have no functionality.
Nonetheless so, you could call me that, though I’ve been named many things: Death, the Lady of the Shadows, the Reaper; just to
name a few -“ “What do you want from me?” shouted the leader; it seemed he had blatantly ignored all of the words she had just spoken.
“My, my, how rude. Interrupting a lady, just like that. I almost regret not slicing you in half the second I saw you. Fear not, I may
change the fact that you’re still breathing within moments to come - but first, I want you to answer a question.” The leader stayed
silent. “You know, any grunt of confirmation is accepted, I won't disembowel you if you actually give some response instead of just an
interuption,” she remarked. Suddenly, her pose changed and her joyful smirk faded away. “I’m looking for someone. I believe your
people call him ‘The Pyromancer’. Point me to him, give me a direction, a hint to where he might be, give me something. Anything,
and I will spare your life. A simple trade.” While saying this, her tone no longer had a soothing tone, and only the cold, horrific aspect
of it stayed. She sounded as if she had spent her lifetime (though 'lifetime' may not be an appropriate term, as no one knew whether
this creature was dead or alive) looking for this man; but to no avail, thus driving her close to insanity. But this change of tone vanished
in the same split second it appeared, though her smile from before stayed gone. The leader knew his end had come; for he could, he
would not exit life as a betrayer of his people. Thus he said, seemingly fearless, but the tremble in his voice told otherwise: “Even if
I knew, I would not tell you. End my life if you will, but you shall get no information out of me.” Fayde’s expression stayed unchanged as
she lopped off the leader’s head with no further ado.
Right after this act, she seemed to be inundated in a stream of thoughts, as she ran her finger across the blade of her legendary scythe,
which was now smeared with blood. But then her lips curled back into the sinister smile. “I should have known he wouldn’t be cooperative.
They never are.” This said, the Lady of the Shadows vanished, taking the dark mist with her. And so, the moonlight came back, shedding
light upon the dead bodies of the soldiers, a grim scene of which no one ever shall be able to pass the exact story onto others.
- End -
It was a dark, stormy night, and the ancient barrier (not physical, though not completely ethereal, either) that kept the balance in
the forest was disturbed. Nights like these allow darkness to grow in strength, a darkness that fuels the evil that is the Hellbourne.
For this very reason, all sorts of cruel horrors slipped through to the Legion-side of the forest, all across this barrier. Gruesome horrors,
accompanied by such unnatural shadows that they could not be cast by any worldly object; shadows that made the air itself flee
desperately. At dreadful times like these, Imps, Warlocks, and other Hellbourne darklings rushed, strengthened by the grimness of the
night, through the ruptured barrier, seeking to satisfy their never-ending thirst for blood.
Though they would not, however, have an easy time doing so; for the Legion’s army was prepared. Strong soldiers, following the lead of
the mighty Jereziah intercepted the flooding darkness, calling upon the power of Sol to drive it back. All across the enormous forest of
Caldavar, clashes between the forces of light and darkness were taking place. Such a phenomenon was not unseen in Newerth; battles like
these occured almost daily - the Hellbourne usually gained some ground during the nightfall, just to be driven off again
with the dawning of the light, when Sol’s strength increased. This night, however, would not follow this recurring pattern that stitches
together the never-seizing war between the Legion and Hellbourne.
The neutral Goblins kept small trading posts along the barrier, bartering goods with whoever wished so, not being disturbed by either
faction. Why would they seek conflict with the Goblins, who had no intention to intervene in the war? They only cared for their goods;
goods that every soldier, good or evil, can make good use of. Near one of these outposts, a group of Legion soldiers patrolled through
the trees. “The barrier is thin, here,” put forth the leader of the group. “Prepare for the upcoming battle; as soon as this Hellbourne
scum notices it, an entire horde of Imps will come barging through.” Though his relaxed stance did not match the tone of his voice,
as did the firm grip around his sword betray that he feared whatever he and his men might run into. Despite being well-seasoned as
they were - being used to fare war against the creatures of the dark - he could not help but notice the frightened look on his comrades’
faces; even he could hardly suppress shivers of fear.
And then they all felt it. Someone, something was drawing near. One blink of an eye passed and a dark, shrouding mist covered the
trees above their heads and crept steadily but horrifyingly fast towards them, blocking off the little light that the moon shed - they
were blind. A few moments of thrilling suspense passed; then all hell broke loose. All around the leading soldier, the unmistakable sounds
of a raging battle could be heard, accompanied by terrified screams. Instantly he drew his own blade, but it seemed not to matter at all,
for he could not even see the weapon he now held. “Sh- show yourself, you monster, and face me without this damned mist making me
unable to see!” he uttered. A voice that made his heart skip more than one beat and the blood in his veins freeze suddenly whispered
from the dark. “If that is your wish..” It seemed as if the voice came not from a distant point but from inside his head - and then suddenly
he could see through the mist. He could see the gruesome scene that was taking place all around him.
Each and every one of his comrades were losing - or had already lost - the battle against their very own shadow; though there was
no light source that could cast them, the shadows seemed to be alive and handled independently from their owners, one by one felling
their living counterpart. But his attention was to her, when she emerged from the shadows: a woman with a certain graceful but terrifying
beauty strode towards him. Her skin had this odd tone of gray, as if her body and the shadows that it could cast were one; but other
than this peculiar fact, her body had every feature of a human female, and was, to be fair, quite a pleasure to the eye. She wore a
cuirass, covered with some dark dye, that fitted her probably more than any other and allowed her to move about in an elegant fashion.
She bore a mask, that covered half of her face but had a visor of some sorts, allowing one to gaze into her milky white, but brightly
glowing eyes. She had long, dark hair, tied up in a ponytail-fashion; although which, after taking a closer look, seemed as if it consisted
of the same dark mist that surrounded her. The two horns curling out from either side of the mask she wore were nonetheless impressing,
but there was nothing more horrifying than the weapon she wielded; a huge, razor sharp scythe. The entire weapon was intricately garnished
with some bone-like material and resembled the attributes of the head of a ancient, fearsome predator. The blade seemed as if it could cut
up any material in the blink of an eye. The very sight of this legendary weapon instilled pure fear in the leader’s veins - he knew
this weapon. Every Legion soldier knows and should know this weapon. This was the weapon wielded by the mistress of revenge itself;
he was approached by none other than Fayde.
This fact horrified him so, that he uttered: “You! You are Fayde, Harvester of Souls!” This seemed to amuse her, as her lips curled into
a smile. “So you’ve heard of me? I seem to be quite popular with your kind.” she said with the same soothing but fear-instilling voice,
though now it did not seem to come from his own thoughts. “Names are no more than a… decoration - they have no functionality.
Nonetheless so, you could call me that, though I’ve been named many things: Death, the Lady of the Shadows, the Reaper; just to
name a few -“ “What do you want from me?” shouted the leader; it seemed he had blatantly ignored all of the words she had just spoken.
“My, my, how rude. Interrupting a lady, just like that. I almost regret not slicing you in half the second I saw you. Fear not, I may
change the fact that you’re still breathing within moments to come - but first, I want you to answer a question.” The leader stayed
silent. “You know, any grunt of confirmation is accepted, I won't disembowel you if you actually give some response instead of just an
interuption,” she remarked. Suddenly, her pose changed and her joyful smirk faded away. “I’m looking for someone. I believe your
people call him ‘The Pyromancer’. Point me to him, give me a direction, a hint to where he might be, give me something. Anything,
and I will spare your life. A simple trade.” While saying this, her tone no longer had a soothing tone, and only the cold, horrific aspect
of it stayed. She sounded as if she had spent her lifetime (though 'lifetime' may not be an appropriate term, as no one knew whether
this creature was dead or alive) looking for this man; but to no avail, thus driving her close to insanity. But this change of tone vanished
in the same split second it appeared, though her smile from before stayed gone. The leader knew his end had come; for he could, he
would not exit life as a betrayer of his people. Thus he said, seemingly fearless, but the tremble in his voice told otherwise: “Even if
I knew, I would not tell you. End my life if you will, but you shall get no information out of me.” Fayde’s expression stayed unchanged as
she lopped off the leader’s head with no further ado.
Right after this act, she seemed to be inundated in a stream of thoughts, as she ran her finger across the blade of her legendary scythe,
which was now smeared with blood. But then her lips curled back into the sinister smile. “I should have known he wouldn’t be cooperative.
They never are.” This said, the Lady of the Shadows vanished, taking the dark mist with her. And so, the moonlight came back, shedding
light upon the dead bodies of the soldiers, a grim scene of which no one ever shall be able to pass the exact story onto others.
- End -